Hermione's room in the Granger household was exactly as she remembered it from the original owner's memories—tidy, filled with books, and smelling faintly of parchment and old paper. She took the envelope from the owl's beak, tossing the bird a small treat before it took flight from her open window.
"Hiss!"
From the foot of her bed, her new ginger cat, Crookshanks, flattened his ears, tail twitching in irritation at the feathered intruder. Hermione reached down and placated him with a quick scratch behind the ears before turning her attention to the letter. She broke the wax seal.
Dear Ms. Granger,
Thank you for your correspondence. It is a pleasure to hear from an eager new student. I wish you a happy start to your term at Hogwarts.
Sincerely,Minerva McGonagall
Hermione felt a small, surprised smile touch her lips. After receiving the Hogwarts acceptance letter, she'd written a brief thank-you note out of pure courtesy, not expecting anything to come of it. She stuffed it back in the owl's pouch and sent it on its way. She hadn't expected the stern Transfiguration professor to actually reply.
Huh. A nice touch.
She shook her head, the smile fading as her thoughts returned to the complex reality of her situation. Being here, in this room, was only possible because of the magic book in her mind.
After the initial shock of landing in the Marvel universe, a terrifying realization had dawned on her: even though Hogwarts had accepted her, she was on the wrong planet. How was she supposed to practice magic when the Ministry could track any underage spellcasting in Britain? More importantly, how was a twelve-year-old girl with no identity, no family, and no legal status supposed to survive in New York City?
In a desperate Hail Mary, she had scoured her mental grimoire and found, on the very last page, two strange icons: a stylized 'M' and a silhouette of a castle.
The 'M' was grayed out, unresponsive. The castle, however, was glowing with color. Without a second thought, she'd focused her will on it.
The world had twisted, and she'd found herself standing right here, in Hermione Granger's childhood bedroom in the Harry Potter universe.
A quick check of the book revealed that the castle icon was now gray, while the 'M' was lit up. Below it, a progress bar was slowly filling. After a few experiments, she'd confirmed it: the book allowed her to travel between the Marvel and HP worlds, but on a twelve-hour cooldown.
It was the perfect loophole. She'd immediately gone to Diagon Alley, bought a wand and a stack of spellbooks, and used the grimoire to copy every spell she could. Then she'd jumped straight back to New York—a place far beyond the Ministry of Magic's jurisdiction—and practiced nonstop.
Now, with her luggage packed and a brief, slightly awkward farewell to the couple who were technically her parents, Hermione made her way to King's Cross Station. Specifically, to the hidden Platform Nine and Three-Quarters.
The Muggle part of the station was a chaotic mess of sound and motion. She watched as a wizarding family ahead of her walked directly at a brick pillar between platforms nine and ten and simply vanished into it. The Muggles rushing past didn't even blink. A powerful Confusion Charm, then, she mused. Otherwise, the sight of people phasing through solid brick would probably make the news.
Remembering there was a time limit, she gripped her ticket, took a steadying breath, and walked straight at the wall. For a terrifying second, she felt nothing but cold, hard brick, and then she was through.
The noise of the station was replaced by the cheerful din of the platform and the hiss of steam from a magnificent, deep-red locomotive. After loading her trunk, Hermione found an empty compartment and settled in by the window, watching her own reflection. She had the face of a twelve-year-old girl, but her eyes held the weary weight of an entirely different life.
Harry Potter and Marvel. Dumbledore and Voldemort. S.H.I.E.L.D. and the Avengers. The names and faces swirled in her head. It was all too much.
Just as she was getting lost in her thoughts, the compartment door slid open with a rattle.
"Oh—there's someone in here."
A boy with messy black hair and round glasses stood in the doorway, looking apologetic. "Sorry, everywhere else is full. Mind if I sit here?"
Hermione glanced at him, then gave a short, single nod.
"Thanks," the boy said, sliding onto the seat opposite her. It was, of course, Harry Potter. Shouldn't he be with Ron right now? she wondered idly. Or did I just take their compartment? Not that it mattered. The books and movies only showed one version of events.
A few minutes later, a red-headed boy with dirt on his nose peeked in, asking the same question. Ron Weasley. Harry glanced at Hermione, and when she offered no reaction, he nodded to Ron and patted the seat next to him.
The scene played out exactly as she remembered.
"That scar… you're Harry Potter!" Ron exclaimed, his eyes wide.
Soon after, the trolley came by, and Harry, unfamiliar with wizarding currency, bought a mountain of snacks, stunning the perpetually broke Ron. A friendship was instantly forged over a pile of Chocolate Frogs and Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans.
Through it all, the two boys kept stealing glances at Hermione. They'd finally noticed that the girl in the corner hadn't reacted at all to the famous name.
Feeling their eyes on her, Hermione looked up, her gaze landing on the clumsy tape holding Harry's glasses together. It bothered her.
"Reparo," she said quietly, flicking her wand almost casually. The tape vanished and the crack in the frame sealed itself seamlessly. A small notification pinged in her mind.
Repairing Charm proficiency +1.
Harry and Ron stared, mouths agape. They hadn't even started their first year and she was already casting spells like a pro.
Hermione just turned back to the window, ignoring them. She had no interest in being surprised by the Boy-Who-Lived—she'd read his entire life story. And besides, she was an adult in a child's body; playing house with a bunch of eleven-year-olds was the last thing she wanted to do.
Night fell, and the train finally shuddered to a halt. The first-years were led by Hagrid down a dark path to a fleet of small boats waiting by a vast, black lake. As they rowed across, the clouds parted, and Hogwarts Castle was revealed, its windows blazing with light against the night sky.
Even having seen it on screen a hundred times, the sheer scale and beauty of it made her breath catch in her throat. "You can never beat the real thing," she murmured to herself.
They climbed a massive stone staircase where Professor McGonagall was waiting, looking just as stern and imposing as she did in the books. From the back of the group came the sound of a familiar, sneering voice—Draco Malfoy was insulting Ron's family, and Harry was jumping to his defense.
Hermione deliberately hung back, trying to blend in with the crowd as they were led into the Great Hall. But as she passed the professor, McGonagall's sharp eyes found hers.
"Miss Hermione Granger."
Hermione froze. How? I'm at the very back.
She turned. "Good evening, Professor McGonagall."
McGonagall's severe expression softened into a rare, kind smile. "I simply wanted to thank you for your letter, Ms. Granger. I wish you a happy start to your term."
So that was it. "Thank you, Professor. I wish you a successful year of teaching," Hermione replied with a polite, practiced smile.
She walked into the hall, her eyes adjusting to the light of thousands of floating candles. At the front of the hall sat the staff, and in the center, in a large golden chair, was a very old man with a silver beard that reached his belt. Albus Dumbledore.
The old headmaster stood to address the students. His gaze swept across the hall, pausing for a moment on Harry Potter. Then, his twinkling blue eyes moved past Harry, past the rows of other students, and landed directly on Hermione, hidden away at the back of the crowd.
He held her gaze for just a second too long.
Hermione's polite smile faltered.
What?
PLS SUPPORT ME AND THROW POWERSTONES .